


Ode of The Seemingly Heartless

by bisquittes



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Flushed, Other, Thinking, Unrequited Love, just staring up at the sky, things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-19 17:56:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1478824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisquittes/pseuds/bisquittes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You stare at the sky, feeling the water with what you can. You think about things, regret not doing some of those things, and remember that she loved colors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ode of The Seemingly Heartless

 

* * *

 

 

        In a few minutes, the sun will be setting. I'll stay here and watch how the colors change.

        A cool wave washes my bloodied hands and I'm reminded of one of the discussions we had. The water always reminded me of you, and I think about the time you told me you'll always have my back. Thinking about it now, I guess I should have asked you whether or not you were sure about it because I know how extremely troublesome (and sometimes shitty, I have to admit) I can be. Showing how I really am isn't really something I do around people. But when I'm with you, I let my guard down. I trusted you.

        I'm emotional and moody, I know. I get upset over little things and sometimes, my temper is shorter than my chewed-up nails that I flip my shit quicker than I can shoot my Crosshairs—and you know how quick that is. I should have asked you if you were sure you wanted to be my friend. I should have asked you if you could handle being with me. I know I should have but I chose not to. I didn't, because at that time, I was sure you wouldn't mind. At that time, I thought I didn't need to because I was sure that I could trust you and count on you no matter what. That you'll always be there for me no matter how bad shit got. I was confident.

        Now, tell me. Exactly how wrong was I?

        Apparently you found someone else now. Someone much less of a bother, much less-maintenance and much less emotional, whose moods never swayed dangerously like mine did. Stable, unlike me. Someone much more interesting and funny and capable and cool. Effortlessly. Unlike me, who tries far too hard—far too hard to put up an unshakable front, to seem cool and undeterred by anything, that at times make me seem cold and distant and sometimes heartless—which makes me hate myself more.

        I can perfectly understand why you'd prefer to be with that new friend of yours. I can only imagine just how it makes everything so much easier for you. I know you never really liked dealing with things too complicated, that you'd rather live where things are bright and beautiful 24/7. I hate to break it to you, though, but things can't always be like that. Sooner or later you have to learn how harsh the world can be. And _I_ already did.

        I guess it's my fault, too, since I began distancing myself from you. And that I sort of pushed you away with my indifference and lack of interest. I constantly looked back, though. To check if you'd do anything about it. You didn't. And it broke me.

        I guess I don't exactly matter anymore, do I? Come to think of it, I'm not even sure if I even mattered at all before.

        I've been told that I have separation anxiety. And I know for a fact that you have separation anxiety, too. The only difference between us is that you're pretty blatant about it, whereas _I_ keep quiet about it. Sure, they have reasons, some because of need, some to protect me, but it doesn't change the fact that they _do_ leave and they _don't_ come back. The first friend I made had already left long before I even realized what happened. And now _you'll_ be leaving me, too.

        I won't question your decision. I don't think I can, when I can perfectly see your reasons. But I can be sad about it. I can think about it so much that I can maybe even cry about it once or twice or every night. But if this is what will make you happy, then hey, by all fucking means, go. I want you to be happy. After all, all we ever had were just years of being aware of each other's existence. There weren't really any significant interactions between us until recently, so I suppose you can just scrap all that. I'm sure it wouldn't be that hard. I just wish I could say the same for me.

        The sky's transition from blue to orange is fucking _exquisite_. I'm sure you'll love the colors. You always loved colors. The wind's picking up, but I can still make out the shape of a dented little alchemiter from the clouds through the cracks of my fogged glasses. Did I mention I've also completely lost the feeling in my legs?  
  
        I still tried to smile a little in the nearly insignificant moments you bother yourself to try talking to me. The moment you turn away, though, I'd need to bite my tongue to keep any of the emotions from seeping through. Can't let that happen. Anymore, at least. And I'm proud to say I'm getting used to it. Little by little. It doesn't bother me as much as before. I'm mapping my progress. It's looking good. 

        I like to think that I'll get over you soon. Maybe.

        But then come to think of it, I never really got around to telling you the most important thing. Hence the fucked-up context. Though, maybe somewhere, midway, you've already figured it out. You know, I should have seen that classic denial shit coming from a thousand miles away, but I resigned to just ignore it at first—and obviously, I found that I couldn't. Back then, I thought that if I just keep whatever it was that I felt in a bottle and cap it real tight, then sooner or later, it would be deprived of its stupid precious oxygen and eventually die out. But apparently neither science nor magic apply here, do they? Huh.

        I guess the thing about me wanting you to be happy is that _I_ want to be happy, too. But it can't happen. I _know_ it can't happen. Since they're mutually exclusive, it's really only one or the other. Your happiness or mine. _You_ are what will make me happy. Unfortunately, it doesn't go the same for you. I know I have to learn to live with that, but I still find it sad.

        It's gotten colder now. The water's drenching the purple insignia on my shirt and I can faintly feel the sodden wool fibers of my scarf brushing against my face. I can barely feel my hands now but I can at least tell that the Crosshairs— _my_ Crosshairs—are slipping from my grip. I can't feel anything anymore. Except maybe that I feel extremely helpless right now. I hate it. I fucking hate it.

  
        Hey, aren't sunsets supposed to end with some deep blue colors? I guess today's a little different because all I'm seeing is white.

 

 

* * *

 


End file.
